


Blood Demands Blood

by PixiePaint



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina - Freeform, F/M, Magic, Other, Poppets, Rituals, Wicca, alternative ending, blood demands blood, darker ending, latin speaking, magick, sabrina performing a ritual, spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16655761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixiePaint/pseuds/PixiePaint
Summary: "Blood demands blood," mutters Sabrina, "Blood always demands blood. There is no other option. None." She says it with such conviction and persuasion, one might assume that she was speaking to someone. However, the only people she was facing were sewn poppets, grim-faced and slim with scavenged hay.





	Blood Demands Blood

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are very appreciated!
> 
> a quick write of an alternative ending to the season, in some aspects darker than the original

Not all angels descended from the False God's heaven, and they certainly didn't all wear a purifying halo around the crown of their heads. Angels were not needed in times of hope, but of despair, and Sabrina Spellman could feel nothing but anguish right now.

Candles and inverted silver pentagrams mark a circle around her body, burdock roots and clove oil scattered in quasi-innocent manners. The only light in the room emits from the flames, a steadily flickering radiance that showers the room in fire-like colors. Scarlet scrawls against the edges of the walls, garnet orange spreading outwards and a mustard yellow illuminating individual objects: the ankh ashes jar, the mostly-filled blood vials, the antiquated, worn books whose gold lettering was barely visible. Trinkets of magickal and practical importance fill every space possible: every nook, shelf, and available bit of floor was commandeered. Some baubles rest on impossible places-- ceiling fans, the tops of pointed objects, even floating in the high air. A shimmering veneer is barely visible, separated from mortal life; typically plain objects have an iridescent shimmer, thin waves of inaudible sound and senses radiate from every crevice, and an eerie silence falls upon the room. Nothing moves except for the flames. A cold gust from the open window rushes in and then leaves as soon as it had began.

"Blood demands blood," mutters Sabrina, "Blood always demands blood. There is no other option. None." She says it with such conviction and persuasion, one might assume that she was speaking to someone. However, the only people she was facing were sewn poppets, grim-faced and slim with scavenged hay. They had careful, precise needling that only a deliberate witch could accomplish. Black yarn marked x's for their eyes and three dark wine buttons for their mouth-- a sacred number.

Sabrina brushes her thumb against the taller poppet, at first gentle and then consuming, harsh and eager. A look passes across her face that has scarcely ever been seen save the occasions that Zelda murdered Hilda-- a wicked, cruel appearance that urges on pleasure to follow. It was hidden and dull behind her features, yet, it was there. She drops the other poppet carelessly, letting it collapse noiselessly against the polished wood floor. Sabrina's focus now centers on the previous one; lanky and dark-haired, stringy yarn plaited into two braids. She murmurs in Latin softly: "Ubi non est alius optionem est nobis pythonissam pythonissam. Agatha in Sabrina vocat poppet. Agatha ego invocabo."

A soft whisper of magick flitters through her hands, a tiny jolt of witch-made electricity. The candles flicker more rapidly. Sabrina repeats and repeats the last sentence, eyes beginning to close and brows pulling in concentration. Gravel spills out of the poppet's mouth, a constant stream that pills at Sabrina's pinched, red shoes. The gravel turns to dust within several moments, quick sounds of sediment collecting upon other sediment echoing throughout the empty room.

"Sanguis sanguinem petit. Et petit terra sanguinem. Accipe sacrificium," she pauses and repeats even quicker, "Sanguis sanguinem petit. Et petit terra sanguinem. Accipe sacrificium."

Along with the dust and pebbles spilling from the poppet's mouth seam, thick, crimson liquid bubbles out. It dribbles down the poppet's face, over the chin, and then traverses the expanse of the body. Sabrina squeezes the poppet a bit tighter. She exhales.

"An offering for the Earth," she says, then even softer, "For Harvey. For Tommy."

And then she crushes the poppet's neck.

Sabrina breathes in and out, blinking in quick succession before shakingly anointing the poppet in frankincense oil and dipping it in the largest candle's fire. It catches the flame quickly, burning blue. Carmine liquid with the consistency of honey drips from the poppet as it burns, a few drops meeting the ground and staying there-- not splattering, just sitting in a perfect circle. The poppet blazes to smoky dust, earthy smells of cedarwood and overgrown grass. Small bits of it gather against her clothes, and as soon as the poppet is no more, she rushes to get them off. She shudders and swallows harshly, ears red.

The candles still burn consistently. Nothing else in the room falters, but her breathing now overtakes the silent rhythm. She reaches a hand out as if to pick up the candle, but stops midway as if she physically cannot.

"Sabrina!" A tight, inquisitive voice loops from across the house.

She does not respond.

"Sabrina Spellman! Your Aunt Hilda has made lamb shepherd's pie, raw as you prefer. Only the Dark Lord knows what you're doing up there. Cooped up."

"Okay, Auntie Zee," Sabrina manages, voice blocky with concealed emotion. Her black hairband slips down to the tip of her forehead. She doesn't push it back but purses her mouth as if to blow out a candle.

"Then come down, foolish girl. Satan willing!" An exasperated sigh resounds through the walls. "Sabrina, we have things to discuss."

"I know, Auntie Zee."

Sabrina halts and composes herself, speaking only to herself now, low and tender.

"I know."

She blows out the candle nearest her and looks around at the rest of them. There must be dozens, different shapes and sizes, all black as the night. A faint residue of smoke still resides in the air.

Sabrina wipes an astray tear from her cheek and stands up.

"Blood demands blood."


End file.
